


March On

by Shockcakes



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Character Study, Experimental Style, Gen, Talking Pokemon, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26295169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shockcakes/pseuds/Shockcakes
Summary: A shunned paladin and a cursed weapon walk into a bar
Kudos: 5





	March On

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to attempt writing talking Pokemon for a long while now. This is more or less just a random experimental oneshot with nonsense I made up entirely on the spot. Enjoy

Johanna believed herself to be cursed with the most unusual affliction.

With every town, city, or settlement she entered, none seemed to make up their collective minds on how to react to her presence. She would be overcome with noise with no end to chants and jeers one minute and the next, her footsteps would become the only sound heard within a mile. Eyes would simultaneously fall on her while averting altogether. She’d attract a crowd of onlookers and there would be none assed enough to give her the time of day.

Very peculiar.

The town of Runeswick appeared to have gotten the same memo.

“Seems the Great Alpha wants a silent day, hm.” She mused with an almost woeful chuckle. The part of her that had hoped for anything different had long since deteriorated. Like her worn greaves. Though, shamefully much like them, they never seemed to know when to finally give out.

“Tis be for the best, Lady Johanna.” A voice chimed from her hip, the weapon sheathed at her side. “Far easier not to attract attention to thyself this way.”

“I hate being the bearer of ill news, Grimm, but all Gardevoir attract attention no matter where they go.” No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find the levity in her snarky retort. “The Court made quite certain of that.

“Regardless madam, our hardships be-eth long and plentiful. This is a welcome respite.”

She raised her brow. “Must all Honedge be so morbid?”

Though he had no face, she felt his wry smile as though he were right beside her. There was some solace to be had in his voice. Infinitely preferable than if he had none at all.

Her train of thought halted once she came upon what appeared to be the local tavern. A drunken Krookodile stumbled out, just addled enough to give her a passing glance without realizing he needed sneer at her for even existing near him.

That was the good thing about bars; normally, no one’s sober enough to care who she was.

The steps of Johanna’s greaves were silenced by chatters from locals and adventurers alike. Exciting tales flowed as freely as alcohol did. The allure to join them was there, Johanna admitted. Just once, she’d love to see a reaction from the incident with a rogue Swalot that wasn’t Grimm’s reviled shuddering.

She kept those thoughts in check. Runeswick was a waystation above all else. Nothing but a hub to rest and restock for her journeys ahead. Teachings Johanna would recite with every stop she found her way too.

If only they managed to curb those intrusive thoughts that welled up in her brain.

It wasn’t long before she attracted the eye of the surly barkeep – a gruff Croagunk cleaning an empty glass, not unlike the dozens of other barkeeps he’d seen prior. There was no visible contempt to be found on his face, yet experience taught her that with the blade of the cursed Court sheathed at her hip, he had every reason to parse her as a threat.

With some luck, maybe she’d be able to convince him that she was only a _potential_ threat.

Johanna curtly took a seat, her worn armor clattering softly as she sat. She prepared to voice her order – long had it been since she’d tasted the sourly sweet tang of payapa berries – but was quickly interrupted before she could begin.

He set the clean glass down. “We don’t get many Crusaders ‘ere in Runeswick.”

“I can imagine. There would’ve been pitchforks and torches surrounding me before I could set a single foot here.” She wished that was only an exaggerated jest. “Is this the part where you tell me my coin is no good here?”

“‘S it cursed any?”

“No.”

“Spend away.”

She had to admit, cursed money was a new one to her. The rumors that spread of the Court were fantastical at best – binding innocent spirits to weapons, bringing misfortune onto kings and rulers. Johanna could hardly imagine what manner of story someone would have to tell to come to that conclusion.

Her order was soon placed and she was quickly staring at a mouth-watering plate of chopped payapa and some refreshing water.

Life was good for those first few bites. Conjoined sweet and sour tastes quelled her mind, opening her to what was possibly the closest form of tranquility. The berry notoriously held the effect of increasing awareness of emotions. A sensation the crusader was familiar with. Nostalgia from the Ursaring chatting over campaigns past, frustration from the Zoroark rogue having lost his earnings and drinking his sorrows away. Standard fare from the bubbling emotions to be found in a bar.

Something caught Johanna’s fancy long enough to distract her from her meal. A potent feeling, standing out from drunken masses. A mix of childlike joy and passion. An oddity, given her current locale. The youthful sensation caught her off guard. Surely no one would be careless enough to bring a child to an establishment such as this. Not with the mouthful of unique expletives coming from the screaming match between the Pangoro and Machoke a few tables over.

So distracted was Johanna that she only noticed the whimsical tune after her payapa high dissipated.

The background prattle drowned out most of its melody but the faint tug of strings journeyed to her ears. Johanna traced it to a lonesome bard, one of the few if not only pictures of serenity to be found here. Before she knew it, Johanna had approached him.

“You have quite the talent.”

The Maractus opened his eyes, his thorned fingers continuously strumming his prized lute. Curious, his eyes ran her over, noting the Aegislash depicted crest decorating her black pauldron and the sheath at her hip. Much to her disbelief, his face didn’t twist in disgust. Though she had to admit, she had yet to see a disgusted Maractus.

He was quite small, his aged leather tunic indicating he’d been well-traveled. As she was in his presence, the Gardevoir sensed his emotions plain and simple. She wasn’t overwhelmed by a growing unease nor fear. It threw her off more than she would care to admit.

Arceus, when was the last time she was around someone happy?

He carried on with his music, his focus skillfully divided between her and his instrument. “And here I thought Crusaders weren’t swayed by the call of music?”

Another new rumor. “We answer a different call though it doesn’t deafen us to others.”

His was the first earnest chuckle she heard in far too long. His jovial mood was infectious. “Well, I’m glad to be of service! Name’s Moreau, miss-?”

“Johanna. You can assume I’m from-”

“The Court of Seers.”

“Perhaps there may be a day where I happen upon a place who hadn’t so much as heard the name.”

Moreau strummed a softer note. Almost somber. “Unlikely, but not impossible. The world we live in is quite large.”

“You say that like you’ve seen much of it.”

The next string was lighter, somewhat slowed. “As much as one can go without the privilege of legs.”

She laughed. A welcome sign that her crusade had yet to dull her sense of humor. “This sleepy town seems to be full of surprises. This is the longest I’ve gone conversing with someone who didn’t mean to run me out of town.”

He hummed. “Color me curious. This is the longest I’ve gone hearing a crusader telling me her stories.”

Johanna smiled. “We have many to tell. Grimm, why don’t you introduce yourself?” The inert blade flinched as he was unexpectedly released from his sheath. There was no doubt she earned some onlookers. She was too engaged to care, even if Grimm didn’t agree.

“ _Madam_ , you mustn’t be so careless as to reveal me in public!”

It was a relief that he didn’t reel from fear at the sight of the cursed sword, yet bittersweet that he paused his music out of surprise.

“By the Alpha’s ring! I’ve never seen a Honedge up close! I-is it true that they possess the spirits of ancient kings?” Moreau marveled at her partner with an almost child-like intrigue Johanna would only expect from an uninitiated member of the Court. While he was unreadable for the most part, there was little Grimm could do to hide the sudden surge of pride he felt.

“Well… _kings_ may be a bit of an exaggeration but many a member of royalty happened upon the sword’s curse.”

Respite was far and few in-between. Most instances being mere moments of deafening quiet the shunned knight went about her business. It was a life that was cruel and thankless, but one Johanna begrudgingly accepted the necessity of. She grew to cherish moments like these.

“Care to hear the story of how Grimm was stuck inside a Swalot’s stomach?”


End file.
